"I need to hit something." I try to smile. It doesn't really work. "Might as well be a tackling dummy."
"Fair enough." He squeezes my shoulders once more before letting go. "Text me after? Let me know you're okay?"
"Yeah. I will."
I grab my bag from the corner of his room. My hands are still shaking, but less now. Tyler's watching me with that worried look he gets, the one that says he wants to fix things but knows he can't.
"Hey, Gav?"
I stop at the door.
"What you said to him. About dating a guy not being a big deal." Tyler's voice is careful. Deliberate. "That sounded like more than just defending your friends."
Shit.
"I mean... I am dating a guy now. Makes it personal."
"Yeah, but..." Tyler hesitates. "The way you said it. Like you were trying to convince yourself as much as him."
I don't have an answer for that. Because maybe he's right. Maybe part of me is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to tell me I'm doing this wrong, that I don't count, that I'm not really?—
"Hey." Tyler's voice softens. "You know it doesn't matter, right? Whether you've figured out all the labels or not. You like Seb. Seb likes you. That's enough."
My throat feels tight. "Yeah. I know."
"Do you?"
I flip him off and head to practice.
Practice is a disaster.
Not technically, I go through the motions, hit the drills, do what I'm supposed to do. But my head's not in it. Every time I close my eyes for a second, I hear my dad's voice. Faggots. Ass-fuckers. Degenerates.
I hit the tackling dummy so hard it almost comes off its hinges.
"Robins!"
Shit. Coach Williams is storming over, and I brace for the yelling. I deserve it. I've been sloppy all practice, too aggressive on some plays, too distracted on others.
"Yes, Coach?"
He stops in front of me. Studies my face for a long moment.
"Walk with me."
Double shit.
We head to the edge of the field, away from the other guys. I can feel their eyes on us. Jamal shoots me a questioning look. I shrug.
"You want to tell me what's going on?" Coach asks.
"Nothing, Coach. I'm fine."
"Son, I've been coaching for twenty years. I know what 'fine' looks like, and this ain't it." His voice is gruff but not angry. "You've been wound tighter than a spring all practice. Nearly took Martinez's head off on that last play."
"Sorry."
"I don't want sorry. I want to know what's wrong."
